


Extended Family

by cincoflex



Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Kink, Older Not Dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-05-13 15:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: As Frank and Briar Rose consider the next part of their lives, their skills and experience are called into play.





	1. Chapter 1

She found the list quite by accident; Briar Rose wasn’t the sort of woman to snoop or get into anyone else’s materials, but sharing a house was new, and in the process of looking for pens it was habitual to start in the kitchen and wind up in Frank’s study half the time. One thing her husband was noted for was hoarding pens, so at any given time Briar Rose knew she could find at least _two_ that had migrated from other points in the house to his desk.

The list was caught in the drawer and she pulled it free, meaning to lay it neatly back but intriguingly it wasn’t typed; this was a hand-written list in the strong neat lettering Frank used when writing. She glanced at it, and noted two things at once: it was a list of names nearly twenty in all, and they were all those of women.

Startled, she noted that there were dates next to the names—some going back nearly thirty years, and the most recent one only last year. Confused, Briar Rose stared at the names, trying to figure out what all this meant. She didn’t recognize any of the people, not in any social context . . .

Footsteps alarmed her, and Briar Rose hurriedly shoved the list back into the drawer, fished out a pen and got up. She stepped out, nearly running into Henry, who shot her a smile. “Found one?”

“Oh! Uh, yes,” she held up the pen. “Sure did.”

“Good,” Henry beamed. “I wanted to add yogurt and bananas to the rest of the groceries.”

“Okay,” Briar Rose agreed. She followed her father-in-law back out to the kitchen, trying not to dwell on what she’d found.

But it lingered in the back of her mind, and Briar Rose found her thoughts returning to the list at periodic points during the day. The most obvious thing to do would be to ask Frank directly of course but she was reluctant to do it. His study was as much his sanctuary as hers was to her, and even though the innocent errand of retrieving a pen was a small matter it was still one of those little territorial transgressions she was unsure about.

Space was still a negotiable issue for Briar Rose; she was mindful of it throughout the house, knowing full well what spaces were shared and which were not. It was a factor in all relationships, this one especially.

And yet . . . It couldn’t be anything _romantic_ , Briar Rose argued with herself. Frank was the standard for faithfulness: loving, committed, honest. He’d shared more of himself with her than any other lover she’d had. The trust between them was solid, built on mutual communication and respect.

So . . . who were the women?

She hesitated at the thought of asking outright—to do so would mean mentioning that she was in the habit of going through his desk to retrieve pens. Silly and reasonable as it was, it still crossed that personal boundary, especially since she hadn’t asked permission.

The question lingered though, and she realized it was preoccupying her when after dinner Frank gave her one of those assessing looks over dessert.

“What’s on your mind?” he murmured, stirring his sugar-free vanilla ice milk with a little scowl.

Briar Rose looked up guiltily, and realized in an instant she’d never be able to bluff, not against Frank. “I . . . went looking for a pen earlier.”

He sighed. “Sorry. I know I carry them off.”

“It’s all right,” Briar Rose replied, gathering up her courage. “So I went to your desk to retrieve one and . . . there was a paper stuck in the drawer. I didn’t mean to read it—privacy and all—but . . .”

“But you did,” Frank’s brows descended. Not a good sign, she knew. 

She nodded. 

For a moment Frank said nothing, moving his spoon through the melting ice milk in slow circles. Finally he glanced up. “And?”

Blushing, Briar Rose gave a helpless little shrug. “And I just wondered who those women were.”

He nodded, still gazing at her. Briar Rose swallowed. “I’m sorry. I just . . . your dad and I _needed_ a pen . . .”

Frank gave a wave of his free hand. 

“Understandable. And Nikki keeps getting on my case about using my phone to make lists but I’m more comfortable with paper.” He brought a spoon to his lips and swallowed before speaking again. “They’re . . . wives.”

Briar Rose glanced at him. “Wives.”

“Well . . . the latter ones were,” Frank amended. “The last six were legally wives. All the others were domestic partners; significant others; roommates . . .” he trailed off, looking pensive.

After a second, Briar Rose figured it out, a little flush rolling over her complexion. “Of fallen officers. Of fallen _women_ officers.”

Frank nodded. “Yes. The first one . . .” he sighed, and leaned on his forearms, dessert forgotten. “Patrolman Kathy Terranova. Nineteen seventy-three. Shot while handling a domestic dispute on West ninety-seventh. Bled out before the ambulance could get there. Unmarried, but she had a . . . roommate named Cecilia Dulecki. Miss Dulecki wasn’t allowed to see the body, collect the personal effects or handle any of the funeral details despite being Kathy’s partner for over fifteen years.”

“Oh God that’s terrible!” Briar Rose blurted out.

“Agreed,” Frank rumbled, his expression bleak. “I . . . had a lot of trouble reconciling that. I’d been brought up that homosexuality was a sin, and that those relationships were evil in the eyes of God and yet watching a small lonely woman helplessly crying her heart out outside the coroner’s office just about broke me. She was _devastated_ , with no-one to turn to. And worse, the charitable organizations within the department at that time didn’t acknowledge her either. In the end I think a distant cousin had to fly out from the Midwest to handle matters.”

Briar Rose reached out to touch Frank’s hand. “What happened?”

“Kathy’s partner, John Jackson started a collection around the precinct on the quiet. Kathy was well-liked, so donations were generous and I took it to Miss Dulecki. After that, John and I kept an ear out for other cases where the usual charities didn’t apply. I started keeping a list so I could send flowers on the anniversary. It’s not much, but _someone_ needed to acknowledge their loss and let them know they weren’t forgotten.”

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Briar Rose squeezed his hand, reassured when he squeezed back.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Just when I think I can’t love you any more than I do, I find out something like this. That list goes back through your entire career, doesn’t it?”

He gave a nod and spoke again, hesitantly. “Not everyone was supportive. In some cases, some precincts, the prejudice against homosexuals was deeply entrenched and pervasive, undermining the ranks as much as racial or religious bigotry. But I wasn’t alone in seeing the injustice and working to change matters.”

“And now?” Briar Rose wanted to know.

Frank pushed his ice milk away with a sigh. “It’s better. Not perfect but changing legislation and attitudes have made it easier to do the right thing, for both the men and women left behind when someone dies.”

“Does your dad . . . ?” she trailed off, not sure how to finish. 

Frank shrugged. “He works with and through the official charities as you know, but I’m sure he’s aware of what I’ve done. Certainly he was the first to push for educating the rank and file; I’ve carried that legacy forward to the best of my abilities.”

Briar Rose took a slow breath. “It’s better,” she agreed. “And that list is very noble of you, Frank.”

He looked down at the tablecloth. “It’s not. It’s the right thing, and even then it’s not enough. Anyone who dies in the line of duty deserves respect. Any fallen officer’s family deserves it too. We can and must do better.”

For a moment neither of them spoke as they held hands.

Her phone chimed; Briar Rose expected the text and shot her husband an apologetic look. “Looks like it IS a go for the C-section. Okay. Not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

Frank got her coat and kissed her at the door; Briar Rose waved to him as she pulled out of the driveway.

\--oo00oo—

Their birthday was coming up.

The fact that he and Briar Rose shared a birthday amused Frank. They weren’t born the same year of course, but having birthdays on the same day seemed fortuitous. He’d already arranged to have flowers delivered to the hospital—that was easy to do, and they’d celebrate early with the family at Sunday dinner even though the actual day would be Tuesday.

Tuesday they’d go into the city for dinner and spend the night somewhere nice in Manhattan, enjoying each other . . . wholeheartedly, he knew. And that would definitely be the best gift of all, Frank thought with a sense of anticipation. Briar Rose had a degree of sensual adventure that had become addictive; a capacity to surprise and delight that Frank found nothing short of amazing, all the more because he’d never anticipated it.

 _Who would have guessed that life would give him this unexpected joy?_ he mused, patiently waiting for Sid to finish speaking.

Putting his attention back on work took some effort but it was worth it; the calendar for the next six weeks was set, the meeting with the Mayor was blessedly short, and best of all nothing major loomed on the horizon to threaten matters. 

Counting himself lucky, Frank vowed to keep his head down for the rest of the day and take things as they came. By that evening he had just crossed the Hugh L. Carey tunnel when the text flickered on his phone.

//I’m on colic duty; going to be a little late.//

Frank tapped back, //want help?//

//YES!// followed by a smiling emoji. Generally those annoyed him but he’d softened a bit over time, accepting that Nikki and Briar Rose tended to sprinkle them into texts like emotional seasoning.

//OMW// he managed, feeling only slightly guilty for the infraction. Texting while driving still carried a fine and Frank was aware that if he was ever charged not only would it probably make the news on all the local stations, but he’d never live it down at home either.

 _Luck of the Irish_ , he thought, and snickered to himself as he tucked his phone away. Frank caught the Sunset exit off the Gowanus Expressway, made his way to into NYU Langon and up to the fourth floor, striding along the hallways with the ease of familiarity. He stopped at the alcove halfway down from the elevator and glanced up at the camera, waiting.

“ID please?” the voice from the speaker demanded politely. 

Frank fished out his driver’s license and held it high; a few minutes later the voice spoke up again. “Thank you, commissioner. Come on in.”

The bolt behind the metal portal clicked open and Frank pushed the door open, stepping into the atrium of the maternity ward. The nurse at the desk in the rotunda gave him a friendly wave towards the nursery. “She told us to expect you.”

“Thank you, Suzanne,” He nodded as he walked by. The Maternity door slid open and Frank immediately moved to the sink, well-aware of the protocol.

Briar Rose was already in one of the rocking chairs, holding a squawky infant. She smiled at him through her lullaby. Out of the eight bassinets in the nursery, only three held babies at the moment. One was asleep, the other two were fitful. Frank finished washing his hands and dried them before reaching for one of the smocks. He draped it over his chest, and then went to the nearest newborn, deftly picking up the child and bringing her close to his chest.

“All right, let’s talk,” he rumbled at the baby, pressing her gently to his shoulder. “What’s bothering you? Stomach? Feeling cranky? Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

The baby stiffened for a moment and then began to snuffle; Frank gently rubbed her back as he stood there, letting her get used to him. He closed his eyes, savoring the weight and warmth of the infant, the sweet newborn scent of her.

Such a small thing and yet dear. When Briar Rose had first told him about the need for baby cuddlers he hadn’t believed her. Frank assumed there would be _dozens_ of people eager for the job, and during the day there were. But after hours, in the later part of the night it was more difficult to get volunteers, she explained. The nurses did what they could but didn’t always have the time . . .

So he’d come in and helped. His own late hours made it an easy side trip, and the benefits . . . oh the benefits. Frank didn’t mind at all. He walked and murmured to them, patiently let them spit up and sneeze and rest against him, little hands curled into fists, little lips blowing wet bubbles as they finally fell asleep. The warmth against his chest eased whatever troubles were there for both of them, and the joy of giving back in such a simple way always helped.

Frank hummed, feeling content.


	2. Chapter 2

Briar Rose looked up as Frank strode into the foyer of the Palm Court in the Plaza Hotel. She’d arrived nearly half an hour earlier than he had, settling into a one of the frond-shaded booths off to the side and daintily sipping an iced tea as she waited in the late afternoon. The lush atmosphere made her want something stronger but Briar Rose held off, feeling a happy sense of anticipation that only grew at the sight of her husband. 

Frank bent, pressed a kiss to her temple and then seated himself across from her, smiling gently.

“Waiting long?”

“Not too long,” she assured him. “So, is the city safe and secure for the oncoming night?”

“To the best of my abilities,” he replied with a shrug. “To be honest I’ve delegated a lot of it since I don’t intend for us to be disturbed this evening.”

“Considerate,” Briar Rose dimpled at him. “So . . . what’s the first order of _business_ , Mister Reagan?”

Frank considered. “Well . . . I’d planned on checking us in, and then dinner downstairs at the Rose Club. I do have a few gifts for you as well.”

“And I you,” she replied. “That sounds like a good time frame, sweetheart.”

Frank ordered a tea and they both relaxed, chatting lightly about small matters ranging from Nikki’s latest boyfriend (“bit of a pushover; he’ll have to get up to speed if she’s keeping him,”) to Jamie and Eddie’s move to Dyker Heights (“He’s already looking to hire one of Lanie’s boys to do the back yard.”) The entire time Briar Rose kept watching Frank, appreciating his easy demeanor as he spoke. Most of the times they were in public he tended to be quiet and focused, but at the moment it was clear he was enjoying himself.

She finished the last of her tea and gave a contented sigh. “All right, let’s get this dual birthday on the road then.”

Briar Rose had stored their luggage with the concierge so it was a small matter to retrieve it and follow Frank into the elevator. He shot her a mischievous grin as she did so. “Memories. Did I ever tell you what my first impression of you was?”

“I don’t think you did,” she murmured, sidling closer to him.

“I thought you looked like . . . dessert,” he murmured pressing one of the buttons, and Briar Rose saw a hint of pink on his high cheekbones. 

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Dessert,” Briar Rose repeated.

“It started when you were checking me out,” Frank admitted. “Not sure _why_ you were looking at my shoes, or my London Fog, but you were. And when you finally got to my face all I could think was that with the rhinestones and curves and pale cream hair you looked like a crystal dish of rich French Vanilla waiting to be . . . savored.”

Briar Rose felt her own face warm up as the car rose. “Ohhhhh. _Really_?”

Frank ran a hand over his features, big shoulders shaking a bit. “Quite honestly, you . . . caught me off-guard,” he confessed. “Then when you kicked off your shoes and insisted on going with me out into the parking garage, and took care of the victim . . . let’s say you made a LOT of impressions that night.”

“Dessert!” she giggled. “And there I was _almost_ intimidated by you that night!”

“Almost?” Frank gave her a sidelong glance. “Almost?”

“Well yes, you were tall and somber-looking, but once I saw it, I started thinking about that mustache of yours and how it would feel . . .” she trailed off, not able to meet his dimpled smile.

“Feel?” Frank prompted, eyebrows going up.

“Against my neck, if you _must_ know,” Briar Rose admitted. “You had the look of a man who’d know how to use it.”

His smug look made her laugh just as the elevator came to a stop and she shot him a smutty glance over her shoulder as she sauntered out. Frank followed her, rolling his suitcase behind him.

“I guess we were both victims of spontaneous attraction,” he told her with wry earnestness. 

“More like perpetrators,” Briar Rose gently corrected him. “And I wasn’t looking at your coat, I was trying to see if you had a wedding ring. If I’d spotted it I would have taken another elevator.”

“But I _was_ wearing a ring,” Frank pointed out, settling his suitcase on the rack in the closet.

“Yes, but I only noticed AFTER we’d dealt with the shooting victim and the ambulance and the drive home,” she sighed moving to the bathroom to lay out her toiletries.. “And I was pretty sure at that point I wasn’t going to ever see you again.”

“Fate had other plans,” came his reply, “for which I’m exceedingly grateful.”

“I don’t think Abby choking on a sandwich can really be called an act of divine intervention, sweetheart.”

“No, but your _saving_ her can, absolutely. And the unfolding of our relationship through that still delights me. How many other men can say they met their future wives through heroic lifesaving deeds?”

Astonished, Briar Rose stepped out and looked at Frank, who smiled and winked.

“Sometimes,” she told him slowly, “you say the most amazingly sweet things, Francis.”

“Well just remember that the next time I snore, or leave the seat up,” he sighed.

\--oo00oo—

The fact that Briar Rose didn’t even _look_ at the dessert menu clued Frank in, and he smiled at her, feeling low heat in the pit of his stomach that didn’t have much to do with dinner, either. He watched her finish the last of her wine and shoot him a forthright look over the candle. “All right. One of the presents I have for you is . . . well it’s for you, but also sort of for _me_ ,” she began.

He arched an eyebrow but she refused to elaborate, smiling back at him.

“All of the presents I have for you are . . . for _you_ ,” Frank countered sweetly. “Call me old-fashioned that way.”

She giggled. “And that’s very sweet, but I’m sure you’ll like the, ah, _shared_ one.”

“It’s not . . .” Frank began and stopped feeling a little embarrassed. Asking about sex toys was never going to be his style but then again, he put very little past Briar Rose these days. She must have understood because all she did was reach for his hand as she rose up from the table.

“No, it’s not what you _think_ it is, but when you see it . . .” came her enticing coo. They paid and strolled to the elevator, not speaking as they did so.  
Frank’s interest and libido were piqued but he maintained his staid demeanor, well aware that the elevator was going to stop on several floors before they reached their own. Next to him, Briar Rose was humming under her breath a little, looking happy.

He took her hand, feeling the coolness in his. “I love you,” he murmured.

She squeezed his fingers.

They’d agreed to limit the gifts to three apiece, and Frank was pleased with what he’d gotten for Briar Rose this time: ringside tickets to the upcoming Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show; an emerald tennis bracelet he’d seen and thought would look lovely on her and lastly, the appointment card for his full medical check-up.

And if anything showed her his love, _that_ did, Frank thought with a mental sigh. He’d been putting it off for longer than he wanted to admit and Briar Rose’s gentle reminders made it clear that his health mattered very much to her. Not that he could argue the point, either. Frank was already on Lipitor and ruefully knew he might end up needing an ED prescription in a few years.

But that was down the line. Here and now, everything was good to go.

As predicted the gifts made her cry, a move that left him touched. It didn’t take much to make Briar Rose happy, Frank knew. He could have gotten more, but these things were exactly right and he savored that.

“All right,” She sniffled, pulling a gift bag and a box out, pushing them across the bed towards him. “ _Your_ turn.”

Under the tissue paper, he touched something flat and framed; pulling it out Frank found himself staring at an engraved plaque that glittered in the lamplight. “The Mary Margaret Reagan Memorial Scholarship . . .” he read aloud, stunned. “Established by the Reagan family in her memory to promote the study of and research into Oncology at the NYU Langone Hospital, Brooklyn.”

He blinked, the light fractured by the flush of tears, distorting the engraved letters, the rush of emotion leaving Frank nearly dizzy. “Ohhhh . . . .”

“I wanted to do this,” he heard Briar Rose gulp softly, “a _while_ ago. It seemed like the sort of thing she would have approved of, helping young doctors, and having them help patients in turn. And this way she sort of . . . lives on, you know?”

Frank wiped his eyes, not sure if he could speak for a moment, stunned by the sweetness of the gift. “Briar Rose . . .” he managed in a broken voice, reaching for her, pulling her close, the plaque caught between them.

She held him as it caught up to him, soothing him as his shoulders shook. Briar Rose told him about filling out the paperwork with Henry; of how everyone in the family had contributed to the fund, about how the hospital had fast-tracked the scholarship to have it ready for the next year.

And he held her as lightness flooded his chest. When he drew a deep breath and smiled at her, she blinked.

“It’s a good and _joyful_ thing,” Frank told Briar Rose quietly. “Yes. Thank you.”

She beamed at him, her own cheeks wet. Blinking, Briar Rose motioned to the bag again, and Frank reached into it a second time after reverently wrapping the plaque back up in the tissue. This time he found a palm sized box and when Frank opened it, the gift card for the Capitol Fishing Tackle Company gleamed in the light. “Oh my!” was all he managed as images of new lures flashed through his mind.

“No, they’re not open right now,” Briar Rose chided him with a grin. “But we can stop in tomorrow if you’d like.”

“I’d like that,” Frank agreed, smiling. When he set the card aside, Briar Rose pushed the box towards him and he realized she was looking . . . nervous.  
Intrigued, he pulled the box onto his lap and tugged the ribbon. It came away and Frank lifted the lid, peeking inside.

He stared.

He looked up at Briar Rose.

He grinned, dimples deep.

“Oh yes,” Frank rumbled. He reached in and pulled out the tiny black and white dress, the black lace garter belt and feather duster, handing them to Briar Rose with a gleam in his eye. “Yesssssss.”

She laughed, and rose up, carrying the outfit to the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Briar Rose thought she knew her husband fairly well. Certainly she had a grasp on his favorite side dishes, and sports teams; understood his stance on the homeless situation in the city, and his spiritual groundwork for worship. She knew Frank liked three piece suits; teaching catechism and punctuality.

What she hadn’t realized was that he also liked . . . playing games. Not Parcheesi or Monopoly either, but intimate little games just like the one they were currently enjoying as she straightened up in front of him and lifted her chin high, ready for inspection.

“Is everything to Monsieur’s . . . satisfaction?” Briar Rose murmured, fighting a smirk. The French Maid costume had been a whim sparked by his off-hand remark, but one that seemed to be paying off given them heated stare he was giving her.

“ _That_ . . . remains to be seen,” he rumbled, sending a little shiver up her spine. 

It was hard not to giggle; Frank was extremely good at keeping a stern face and Briar Rose wanted to squirm. He sat up and rose off the bed, slowly walking around her, close but not touching, leaving her feeling very self-conscious. It dawned on her that most of the young policemen under his jurisdiction probably felt the same way . . . minus the sexual undertone.

_Or maybe not_ , she mentally snickered to herself. Frank’s masculine appeal undoubtedly extended to more than a few officers’ fantasies out there.

A warm breath against her left ear caught her by surprise. “Your apron bow is crooked and your seams are off of standard vertical, Miss. Not. Acceptable.”

She gave a little gasp when Frank tugged the satin sashes of her bow, undoing it. He stepped behind her, re-cinching the sashes tightly, forming a perfectly taut butterfly of a bow at the base of her spine. “Better.”

“Oui . . . Monsieur,” Briar Rose murmured a little breathlessly. 

Then one big warm hand slid under her skirt and up the back of her stocking-covered thigh, the heat enough to make her fight a shudder. _He really is good at this,_ she thought dizzily.

Frank’s fingers hooked under the top of the fishnet stocking where it connected to the garter belt, tugging it up. “We pull like so, and the stocking straightens.” His fingers lingered on her skin before he shifted his touch to the other stocking.

She felt her heart race a little; to have him standing so close behind her, hands at the edge of her oh so short skirt . . .

Another tug and Briar Rose felt her other stocking straighten. She fought the urge to shift and stayed balanced on her three inch black velvet heels. Frank’s breath was on the back of her neck now, just under where she’d piled her hair up and it was all she could do not to sway a little.

“Any further infractions will be dealt with accordingly,” he warned her in a little rumble. “Understood, Miss?”

“Oui, Monsieur,” she managed in a little squeak.   
Frank came around to stand in front of her, still not smiling, but the gleam of his gaze through his spectacles left Briar Rose feeling quivery again. He looked her over carefully before he spoke. “Better. I have extremely high standards that you _will_ meet. Now I help me disrobe.”

It was a reasonable request, something Briar Rose would have done without thinking at any other time, but the way Frank said now made it clear it was part of the game. Briar Rose took a breath and gave a quick nod, bending forward enough to flaunt her cleavage a bit. “Of course. First, the tie.”

Lightly Briar Rose reached up to loosen the Windsor knot, letting her hands graze his shirt as she did so, unbuttoning Frank’s collar and pulling the heavy silk from around his neck. With a flourish, she draped it on her forearm and carried it to the dresser, laying it down and folding it into thirds.

He gave an approving nod and waited until Briar Rose had returned to speak. “Well done. Next?”

Next would be his jacket, and Briar Rose moved behind him, reaching up to help him out of it, draping it neatly on one arm before taking it to one of the hangars in the closet. She felt his gaze on her legs as she did so, and made it a point to sashay.

“Bring my robe,” Frank ordered, forgoing his usual ‘please.’

Briar Rose did, laying it on the bed before turning back to him and working loose the buttons on his vest. The slow methodical disrobing made her hyperaware of Frank; of his size, and aftershave; of the very intimacy of the moment.

When she undid the buttons of his shirt, it startled her to realize he’d forgone an undershirt—not his usual practice. Her fingers touched skin and soft grey curls under the Van Heusen he wore, feeling heat there.

“Are we distracted?” Frank asked her with a merciless glance.

She blushed. “No Monsieur,” came her lie; it was damned difficult to concentrate as she began to uncover that broad chest of his. Briar Rose nearly missed undoing the cuff links, but caught herself, neatly straightening the hinges and letting each heavy gold button drop into her hand before helping Frank out of his shirt. With care she hung it up and set the cuff links on top of his tie, the way he preferred.

When Briar Rose turned back to him, Frank had pulled on his dressing gown, leaving it open. She always liked the dark satin lapels contrasting with burgundy quilting on the rest of it and how her husband wore it without looking the least bit self-conscious.

She hesitated, but he gazed down in unspoken command and Briar Rose took a breath. Oh yes . . . the trousers.

It took work not to giggle at the heavy ridge now visible against the fabric, not to feel flattered by it. Briar Rose shifted her fingers to Frank’s belt, undoing it slowly by touch, keeping her gaze on his face. Pulling it free, Briar Rose was about to carry it to the dresser, but Frank reached down, gripping her hand.

-0o0-

He was delighted. Out of all the surprising aspects of this new love, this new relationship was this capacity to be playful. Frank had never considered himself to be particularly playful; raising a family and focusing on a career took most of his time and energy. But the capacity was there, nurtured by the occasional fantasy for years. Fantasy now made a sweet little version of reality in the form of Briar Rose before him, on the verge of a giggle, done up in lace and tulle and oh Lord, those black fishnet stockings.

She shifted a little, looking up at him. “Monsieur?”

“Set it somewhere . . . _near by_ ,” he told her. “For now. The rest of the suit . . .”

It was fun to see her glance at the belt and look nervous. Frank had no intention of using it in any way; pain had _no_ part of his particular interests but the uncertainty it put in Briar Rose was amusing. She fumbled with his fly, fingers brushing him as she pulled down the trousers, leaving him in his good silk boxers.

Frank took a breath, marveling that he hadn’t lost it right then and there. He stepped out of the pooled slacks and let her carry them away as he dealt with his socks.

Socks were the most unglamorous part of disrobing, he knew. 

Still, slipping out of them was simple enough, as was moving to the big leather wingback chair near the balcony. He settled into it, watching Briar Rose saunter his way, her hands full with glittering glass of bourbon. Carefully she set it down on the side table and stepped back, awaiting direction.  
Frank beckoned her forward with a crooked finger, and patted his lap.

Briar Rose slithered closer and perched herself on his thighs; by the feel of it, whatever she had on under the fluffy skirt wasn’t much, and Frank heartily approved of that. 

He looked over the top of his glasses at her and gave a sigh. “You are too damned _adorable_ in that thing. Right now you could ask me for my entire pension fund and I’d give it to you.”

“Oh really?” came her purr. 

“Really,” Frank confirmed reaching for the glass, “which is a secret that must never leave this room.”  
He offered the glass to her and Briar Rose let him hold it as she sipped the drink lightly.

She took it and in turn held it to his lips, slipping her free arm around his shoulders to steady herself. “Yes well it’s fun to see you so . . . strict,” Briar Rose murmured. “I can understand now why some of the officers under you get so nervous.”

Frank shifted to slide his own arm around her, fingers gliding around her ass lingeringly. “What are you _wearing_ under this?”

“Maybe you ought to find out,” she taunted, wriggling a little as she bent to set the glass down.

“I _intend_ to,” came his baleful reply before Frank kissed her, savoring the taste of Maker’s Mark on her warm lips. Briar Rose returned the kiss, shifting herself to straddle his lap, her expression sweet and wicked at the same time.

“Is Monsieur ready for the full tuck-in service?” she asked, arching so he could kiss her cleavage.

“Is ‘tuck’ really the word you meant?” Frank snickered, burrowing his hands under the back of her fluffy skirt to cup her nearly bare bottom. She giggled again at that, working to shift clothing and weight with him until he was able to thrust into her, groaning with pleasure as he did so.

Briar Rose gripped the wings of the headrest, bouncing happily, feeling kisses and mustache scrapes along her exposed cleavage, delighted by the sweet sensations. Being on top was always fun, mostly because it gave her a chance to set the pace and to watch Frank as they made love, to see her husband at his most hungry and vulnerable. The heat of his gaze and feel of his kisses left her giddy above and beyond the fire between her thighs. After a while she slid a hand down to touch herself, feeling him groan in happy reaction.

The soft flick of her fingers in syncopation with Frank’s thrusts did it, and a few minutes later Briar Rose tensed, her free hand raking the leather wing of the chair. Frank’s big hands tightened on her ass and a moment later he grunted, thrusting hard enough to nearly buck her off of him.

Catching her breath Briar Rose weakly laughed, kissing his widow’s peak and trailing down to his temple, sagging in his grip. “Ooof! Monsieur has a LOT to tuck in, there!”

“Monsieur’s brains have left the hotel,” Frank mumbled, lolling his head back, flashing his dimpled grin at her. “Along with a few liters of other fluids. We’re _keeping_ the outfit, right?”

“Consider it,” Briar Rose giggled, “Your birthday suit.”


	4. Chapter 4

Capitol Fishing Tackle opened at ten, and Briar Rose laughed to herself at the way Frank stepped inside and stood, drinking in the glories of the tiny cluttered shop with a delighted gaze. Clearly the gift card had been a wonderful choice. She watched him as he began to wander the aisles, taking everything in and stopping occasionally to examine something that had caught his eye. They only had an hour or so until they each needed to get to work, but for now they had time enough to browse around together.

Given that the three other customers were all in jeans, the sight of a man in a three piece suit was a little unusual but being New York City, nobody openly stared. Wandering off, Briar Rose made her way to a display near the front window; a tableau of an outdoor hibachi with all sorts of fish-related specialty cookware. She admired the tools and wondered if they’d be worth getting for trips to the beach house.

So far Erin, Nikki and Henry had gone to Florida and had come back delighted; Danny and his boys were going in a few months and Jamie and Eddie were planning a trip sometime during early summer—clearly having a place in Fernandina Beach seemed to agree with the Reagans. She and Frank weren’t going down again until the beginning of fall, and by then they’d both be . . . retired.

Such an odd concept, Briar Rose thought with the usual twist of feelings in her chest. They’d talked about it, put forth the pros and cons, and considered everything from the private sector to the lecture circuit for their specialties.

A lot of options and nothing formally agreed upon, yet. Briar Rose was leaning towards part-time work at a women’s clinic, offering reduced fee or pro bono work but hadn’t decided yet whereas Frank was already being asked to come speak to police academies and schools not only in the States but also in Europe. He’d also been approached by a few publishers about writing his memoirs, and at least two private security firms had put forth offers to hire him.

Not that he took those seriously, Briar Rose knew. His heart had always been in _public_ service. They’d spent several evenings weighing the merits of everything before them in quiet discussions.

“Or we could just . . . actually _retire_ ,” Frank had pointed out mildly. “Travel; take classes; pick up courses at college. No shame in that either.”

“No, but it’s quite a transition for a do-ers like us, sweetheart,” Briar Rose had pointed out. “Vacations are one thing; shifting gears take some planning.”

“I always thought . . .” He’d begun before catching himself. Briar Rose had given him a ‘go on’ look and he’d sighed. “Before you. Before us, I always thought I might . . . go into holy orders,” he’d admitted quietly. “Something where I could teach.”

“You’d be good at it,” Briar Rose had assured him before adding, “but here and now as your wife, I’d object to that line of retirement. Not giving up nooky so you can be in good with the Lord.”

“Me either,” Frank had agreed, waggling his eyebrows. “Although the term ‘lay brother’ has an interesting connotation—”

“Don’t nobody _move_!” The harsh yell broke into her memories and Briar Rose looked over to see a thin figure wearing a ski mask and holding up a handgun a few feet in front of the shop’s door.

“Aw shit!” came the instant response of the clerk behind the long counter against the far wall. Briar Rose froze, looking for Frank, but the close aisles of the little shop were tall and she’d lost sight of him when she’d moved to look at the cooking display. 

The gunman waved impatiently at her. 

“Everybody, hands UP. _You_ , move over there with the rest of them where I can keep an eye on you. And _you_ —“ this was to the clerk, “Register. Empty it. Now!”

Stiffly Briar Rose sidled over towards the other customers, and when she passed around the end of the aisle she spotted her husband. She felt dizzy, well-aware that her system was fighting a surge adrenaline as her heart pounded. The other three customers crowded together, all of them quiet. When she reached Frank, he murmured, “Get behind me.”

Briar Rose tried, but the gunman yelled, “No, you stay right _there_ bitch!” so she stood next to Frank instead, slipping her hand into his. Frank was staring mercilessly at the gunman, and she knew he was memorizing what details he could. The gunman shifted, looking back at the door before waving again to the clerk. “Hurry the fuck _up_ or I’m gonna start puttin’ holes in people!”

The clerk had the register open and was cleaning it out, putting the cash into a plastic Capitol Fishing Tackle bag in jerky motions as both the customers and the gunman watched him. He looked up. “It ain’t much you know. We just opened.”

“I don’t fucking _care_! Hurry up!”

Briar Rose watched the clerk shove the bag down the counter but not far enough; the gunman stepped closer to scoop it up when in a quick flash from above the aisle next to them caught everyone’s eye.

A long pole dip net came down over the gunman’s face and shoulders. She turned, seeing someone—an unaccounted for clerk in an apron--yank the long handle and pull the gunman off-balance. It was such a clever move, so _perfectly_ done that she smiled because it just —

The gun went off.

\--oo00oo—

He’d parked himself in the chair next to the hospital bed with no intention of moving unless compelled to by body functions and then only out of necessity. Frank was polite and respectful but ruthlessly determined to stay with his wife through the night, and not a damned thing come hell or high water was going to change that. 

He felt . . . numb. Numb was normal, he knew, but in his case Frank was glad that the foggy cushion of numb was holding down the volcanic undercurrents of fury deep below. He’d channel those later, when needed but for now, letting numbness tamp down the more primitive emotions seemed best. The fact that her injuries were no longer life-threatening, and that the surgery had gone well didn’t quell the rage that seethed within him.

And he’d done everything by the book: Called it 911; secured the premises; gave his statement at the hospital and texted the family. The procedural wheels went into motion and Frank was aware that the Midtown Precinct had the case and was probably in full-blown panic mode. Bad enough that the Commissioner had been a victim in a robbery practically on their _doorstep_ , but having the Commissioner’s wife _shot_ . . . He took grim satisfaction in the thought that nobody there was going to get much sleep tonight either.

A new noise, something different than the blipping monitor, made him look up; his father was there at the door, looking frail and uncertain. “Frank . . .”

He rose stiffly and moved to hug Henry, putting some strength into it; his father clung to him for a moment and then straightened up, his glasses glinting. “How is she?”

“Stable,” Frank replied. “The bullet hit a vein but missed the arteries, which is a blessing. There was a lot of muscle damage though the surgeon is cautiously optimistic.”

Henry squeezed Frank’s arm. “Okay then. Danny will be here later, and Jamie in the morning. You should get some rest.”

“Dad . . .” Frank shot his father a bleak look. “You’re welcome to stay, but I’m not leaving. Not until she tells me to.”

He saw his father give a little sigh. “Yeah . . . I figured that was gonna be the case. When did you last eat?”

Frank winced. “I’m not hungry.” 

“That wasn’t my question,” Henry prodded. “Fine. I’m going to the cafeteria and I’m bringing you back a sandwich and you’re gonna eat it.”

“You can’t _make_ me,” Frank murmured, giving in to the urge to be stubborn. 

His father gave a grin. “No, but when she wakes up I will rat you out to B-Rose in a New York minute, boy of mine. Don’t think I won’t!”

That did it; and Frank managed a small smirk in return. “That’s blackmail.”

“You wanna face her wrath it’s on _your_ head, Francis Xavier. Tuna or roast beef?”

“Roast beef,” he gave in. “No mayo.”

Henry nodded and moved to the bed, looking down where Briar Rose lay sleeping. Frank watched his father murmur a little prayer before he pushed himself away from the rail and headed out of the room again.

Frank did a few paces around the room, working the stiffness out of his body, trying to ignore the pain. He’d done a lot of this before, he knew—sitting, waiting, keeping watch. It was part of his life, both professional and personal.

The fatigue was seeping into his bones, and he fought the urge to yawn. He moved to the foot of the hospital bed and looked at Briar Rose instead, taking in her pale face and the thick bulk of bandages around her left shoulder. It dawned on him that for all her height, his wife was smaller than he realized. Almost . . . delicate.

Unbidden, memories of her in the ridiculous costume of the night before, laughing at him came to mind and Frank squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let the tears fall.

“Damn it,” he rasped softly. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

On the bed, she stirred, ever so slightly.


	5. Chapter 5

Frank shifted closer, gripping the rail and watching her as she rolled her head towards him, eyelids fluttering.

She opened her eyes and tried to focus on him, pale tongue coming out to flick on her dry lips. “Owww,” Briar Rose murmured in a slightly drunk tone. “My arm hurts.”

“Well you were shot,” Frank reminded her gently, bending down to ever so lightly stroke her cheek with his knuckles. “That tends to hurt. I can get you something for the pain.”

“I got shhhot? Oh yeah . . .” Briar Rose blinked a little. “The ssstore. Are you okay?” she stared up at Frank anxiously, her good arm seeking his in uncoordinated fumbles. Frank caught her hand, pressing it between his and she felt his reassuring warmth with a little jolt of pleasure.

“I’m fine,” Frank admitted, looking guilty. “ _You_ , on the other hand were in surgery for several hours to stitch up your cephalic vein and a lot of muscles that the bullet tore through.”

“Nnno arterial damage? What about the ancillary nerves? Who did the work?” Briar Rose asked, but Frank squeezed her fingers.

“Priorities, sweetheart. Do you need pain relief?”

She took a breath as she did a quick self-assessment. “Right now, noooo. Aches but I’m okay. Oh lord—the kids! They know I’m all right, right?”

“They know,” Frank assured her. “Dad’s here and Danny will be by later.”

“K,” Briar Rose mumbled, still clinging to his fingers. “George?”

“Is fine,” Frank sat down, scooting the chair closer.

Briar Rose tried to think of something to lighten the mood. “Hey, guess what?” When Frank bent closer, she smiled up at him. “I’m not wearing underwear. Again.”

He gave her a tender look, one corner of his mouth crooking up. “ _Now_ you tell me.”

Across the room they heard the footsteps and looked as Henry came in, hands full. He crossed over to them studying Briar Rose with an expression of relief. “Oh honey, it’s _good_ to see you awake. You okay? Need meds?”

“I’m okay,” she reassured him, managing a smile. It took effort though, and she sighed. Frank took the sandwich half that his father handed him and was going to set it down, but Briar Rose looked at it.

“You _eat_ that,” she chided. “I bet you haven’t had a thing all day.”

“Busted,” Henry murmured cheerfully. “I won’t stay long because I know you need to rest. Need anything from home?”

Briar Rose shook her head. “Right now I’m good, thank you.” She closed her eyes but didn’t let go of Frank’s hand as he finished the sandwich in a few bites. “Okay. Now you need to go home and get some rest yourself,” she murmured to her husband. “Sleeping in a chair isn’t going to do your back any good, sweetheart.”

“I don’t mind,” he protested, but across the bed his father shot him a knowing look.

“Henry, take him with you when you go,” Rose ordered opening her eyes again. “Really, I’m going to be _fine_. Just tired right now, and probably due for a fresh bag of saline.”

Reluctantly Frank bent to kiss her, studying her face for a long moment before straightening up. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

“Mmm,” she agreed. “I’ll be here. I hope our, ah, suitcases made it home.”

It was fun to see him blush, and Briar Rose chuckled, even though it hurt. Giving his hand a last squeeze, she closed her eyes again, listening as the two of them quietly, reluctantly left.

Fatigue washed over her, and Briar Rose sighed, knowing it was going to be a long night.

\--oo00oo—

He took his time getting ready for bed, well-aware that he wouldn’t drop off quickly if at all. Frank stripped, pausing only when he noted the stains on his shirt cuffs, and he touched the maroon splatters lightly, fighting a surge of despair at the sight of them.

Her blood.

Frank knew he still had dark traces of it under his nails as well, and he fought the knife-edged memory of _catching her, holding her as Briar Rose gave him that slow, stunned look of shock, her mouth gasping. Lowering her to the floor, yelling for someone to call nine one one as he pressed his hand to the dark red gouting from her shoulder . . ._

Someone in the ambulance had given him a towelette and Frank dimly remembered wiping his hands without looking, his gaze still on his wife in the harsh florescent light, her long braid spattered with drying clots.

He sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. “Hail Mary, full of grace,” Frank rasped, “The Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

_Long halls, running, watching the gurney disappear, feeling hands holding him back, guiding him away . . ._

“Holy Mary mother of God, pray for us sinners now . . .”

_Saying what needed to be said; moving through the shock; giving the orders; dealing with each breath one at a time . . ._

“Now and at the hour of our . . . death . . .”

Frank shuddered, hands gripping the stained shirt tightly.

\--oo00oo--

The surgeon breezed in just before dawn, fresh and blonde and bright-eyed, followed by a young male nurse who moved to fasten a blood pressure cuff on her good arm. “Good morning Mrs. Reagan! Sooo, I’m Doctor Winston Staedler and I did your surgery yesterday . . .” he paused, as if expecting applause and Briar Rose tried not to wince.

_One of those types_ , she thought to herself.

The nurse said nothing but the quick glance he shared with Briar Rose said volumes.

He went on, “and I’ll spare you all the messy medical technicalities but you were damned lucky. The bullet missed a lot of important arteries—those are the _dangerous_ ones to damage, you know. We had to patch up a major vein and repair some muscles but I don’t expect any complications at this point even though I bet you’re pretty sore this morning. Any questions?”

“Yes,” she rasped, giving him a perfunctory smile. “I’d like to see the pre-op films and the intake report as soon as you can arrange it.”

Doctor Staedler’s expression faded a little. “What?”

She repeated the request and added, “Also, I’m adding Doctor Lucas Hatch of Langone NYC onto my ROI care list and request copies of all records and treatment forwarded to him stat.”

Now Doctor Staedler looked confused. “Uhh . . . Mrs. Reagan--”

“Sorry,” Briar Rose coughed a little. “Clowderbock-Reagan. Doctor, actually.”

“Oh,” he managed, deflated. “Doctor? Sorry we didn’t catch that. GP? Osteopath?”

“Surgeon,” she murmured. “Obstetric-gynecology.”

The nurse made a soft little sound that might have been a chuckle.

To his credit, Doctor Staedler took a deep breath and met her gaze. “Annnd here’s where I say ‘shit’ and apologize.”

Briar Rose nodded. “Accepted. Now brief me on what I need to know.”

Doctor Staedler’s shoulders dropped a little. “The trajectory was fortunate; the bullet missed both the brachial and auxiliary arteries but the resulting perforations of your deltoid left some shredding, and the exit wound ended up requiring thirty stitches.” 

“Ah,” Briar Rose nodded. “I see.”

“At this point I can’t guarantee anything--the prognosis for a return to full mobility is pretty good but . . .” he sighed, “You’re going to need a lot of physical therapy once we release you.”

She made a face. “I suspected. What prescriptions am I on?”

When Doctor Staedler responded, Briar Rose shook her head. “Cut the opioid; I’ll accept the responsibility. Replace it with Tylenol.”

He gave her a cautionary look, but Briar Rose held firm. “Not risking it, not with my history.”

“Fair enough,” Doctor Staedler agreed. “I’ll check in again later, so do your best to rest, Doctor Reagan.”  
He swept out as Briar Rose mumbled, “Clowderbock-Reagan!” after him.

The nurse rose and patted her forearm gently. “I’ll make sure your requests are carried out, Doctor. “In the meantime, do you feel up to a trip to the bathroom?”

*** *** ***

When she woke up later in the mid-morning, Frank was there. He was still working on the Benjamin Franklin biography and set it aside as Briar Rose let her yawn stretch into a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Frank murmured back, looking over the top of his glasses at her as his hand found hers, being careful of the IV line. “Before you ask, I slept, I showered and I had oatmeal.”

“Good man,” she told him, studying his careworn face with worry. “I envy you the shower.”

“It was lonely,” Frank teased her with a perfectly straight face. “Even though George offered to join me.”

She laughed, and immediately winced. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Frank told her and sighed. “And I mean that for a _lot_ of things.”

“Sweetheart, unless you _staged_ the robbery at Capitol Tackle, and arranged the unlucky logistics of me being shot, you’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Briar Rose pointed out. “Crudely put, shit happens. Could just as easily and terrifyingly been you who got shot.”

“I would have _preferred_ that,” Frank murmured, and flinched as Briar Rose squeezed his fingers hard. 

“Don’t you _dare_!” She hissed. “You’ve already given more than your share in the line of duty and I have _no_ intention of being your widow, you hear me?”

“Well theoretically—" he began, only to get a second painful squeeze.

“Theoretically my bony West Virginia _ass_ , Francis Xavier! Years from now we are going out _together_ in our sleep after indulging a major sex marathon and that’s all there is TO it!” Briar Rose told him loudly. “ _Got_ that?”

She noted he wasn’t looking at her, and when she followed Frank’s gaze, Briar Rose noted the rest of the Reagans on the other side of the room. Nikki was pink-faced, holding back giggles while Danny desperately stared at the ceiling; Erin was biting her lips so hard she was in danger of losing one while Jamie and Edie were blinking rapidly and Henry was rubbing his face hard enough to erase his features.

“So,” Frank told them after a moment, “She’s feeling better.”


	6. Chapter 6

He stretched out on the mattress, forcing himself to relax, muscle by muscle. Frank calmed his breathing, falling back into his old habit of mentally counting as he inhaled.

Tomorrow. She was coming home tomorrow and not a moment too soon because he wasn’t sure he could cope with the solitude anymore. The bed was too big, the room too quiet, the invasive thoughts too persistent. Frank wasn’t sure exactly when his wife had become such an important part of his peace of mind, but it was clear now that she was.

A few years earlier the idea would be . . . upsetting. Frank had always counted on his ability to stand alone; to be the anchor for others in their time of need. After all, he’d been there through so much already: from every trauma ever to hit New York City to the birth of the kids through the deaths of Joe and the two women he’d loved most dearly. Stalwart. Dependable. Those were the traits he’d tried to live up to.

And yet . . . there had been a cost to that. A layer of emotional distance that Frank couldn’t deny. In that desire to be strong, he’d put up a degree of aloofness that he rarely breeched back in the day. He knew he had a reputation for formality; a lack of personal warmth in professional settings. At home, he rarely smiled, even when he was happy. That was just . . . how it was. 

And then Briar Rose had found a way through it without even trying.

That was the _hell_ of it, Frank admitted to himself. She’d simply been herself the whole time, baking pies and showing him how to choose asparagus and letting him tire her dog out. And in her quiet company, Frank knew he’d . . . thawed. He’d slowly begun to respond again. To let go, if ever so slightly.

He gave a deep, slow sigh, fighting a sudden urge to text her. It was late and he’d be bringing her home in the morning. 

A memory of a phone screen flickered through his mind.

Succo

Frank tensed. 

“I’m . . . overreacting,” he murmured quietly to himself. “I’m tired and not thinking clearly.”

The sound of his words in the dark bedroom calmed him, and he took his time switching pillows, not wanting to admit that the scent of Briar Rose’s shampoo helped too.

His phone buzzed. Rolling to the nightstand he reached for it, the pale glow spilling over his face as he brought it close, all the better to read without his glasses.

//hard to sleep without you.//

Frank blinked. He sat up and tapped back.  
//Thought you’d enjoy a break from the snoring.//

//Hey, I don’t snore that much! // came her reply, followed by, //Just . . . I miss curling around you. Good thing we’re both right-side sleepers.//

Frank stared at that, feeling a flood of light relief. //Yes. Now go to sleep sweetheart.//

The reply to that was a string of heart and pie emojis that coming from Briar Rose made perfect sense. Frank took a breath, and before he could talk himself out of it, tapped the little rose one and sent it.

Sentimental. She’d made him _sentimental_ , Frank admitted to himself as he lay down again and closed his eyes, drifting off, bit by bit.

\--oo00oo—

“He did fine,” Lucas admitted grudgingly. “Still wish _I’d_ done the work, but barring unseen complications, from what I can see Staedler did everything right.” He looked at Rose, who was in a robe and sitting in a chair near the tiny window of her room, her gaze bemused.

“Hey, if I could have gone to Langone—“ she teased.

Lucas shook his head. “Waste of time and a big risk. So when are they letting you out of here?”

“Later today,” Rose told him with a tremulous smile. “I’m SO ready for it, too.”

“I bet,” Lucas smiled back, and then leaned forward, his expression softening. “Okay, let’s talk pain, B-Rose. I saw your counter-order on the opioid but it looks to me like the substitute’s not quite cutting it.”

She nodded. “It’s . . . keeping things down but not by as much as I’d hoped. I’m okay during the day because I can distract myself but it’s been tough sleeping.” 

“I thought so. Where are you on the scale? Generally?”

“About a four. Spikes to five after dark.”

“Ok then. I take it you’re going to be relying on your . . . alternative?” Lucas probed gently.

Briar Rose nodded. “Yes. At this point the effect could be strictly placebic and I’d be happy, but it’s worked for me all this time . . . what do you think?”

Lucas nodded back. “Given your history, I think it’s your best, least harmful choice. Now I can prescribe you oils if you prefer but honestly, I think the entourage effect of the whole plant will be your best route to relief, B-Rose. I’ve renewed your prescription and can ah, arrange to deliver it myself.”

She looked at him blankly, and Lucas pointed out, “be-cause having the police commissioner’s wife stopping in at a cannabis shop would be kind of a bad PR move?”

Briar Rose winced. “True. Don’t need to add any more controversy to the news cycle right now, and thank you—I just . . . I just want to sleep the night through, you know?”

Lucas reached for her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “I understand. So where are you going for PT? Northway is in your neighborhood and I know a few of the therapists there, specifically Corinna DiMarcos. She’s the best and she’ll help you get the work done.”

Briar Rose made a face. “If you recommend it, I’ll take it,” she sighed. “How are _you_ holding up?”

Lucas gave her a thoughtful look, knowing her question went back further than the immediate moment. He pursed his lips. “Coping,” he told her. “Still see my therapist about once a week, and the nightmares are rare these days but there are still a few triggers that take me right back. She says that’s normal and time helps but I’ve been considering leaving the hospital. Maybe going into private practice out in Brooklyn Heights, near my sister.”

“Lucas . . .” Briar Rose murmured with empathy. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “We were _both_ there,” he pointed out with a wry smile. “And I think without you and the patients I would have completely lost it.”

“No,” Briar Rose countered, shaking her head slightly. “We were there for each other, _all_ of us. I needed you and them too, and honestly, having Mrs. Bautista in labor was sort of a Godsend in a strange way. Nothing refocuses your life like being needed, you know?”

“I do now,” Lucas agreed. “Anyway, I’ll be checking in once you’re discharged. Do you have enough at home for a day or two?”

“Yes,” Briar Rose replied, “unless Frank’s been dipping into my stash.”

The absurd idea made them both laugh, and she was still chuckling as Lucas kissed her cheek and made his way out of her hospital room.

\--oo00oo—

Late that evening, the dumpy little old woman with the heavy shoes and pot of daisies swept into Briar Rose’s room, waking her from her doze with a start that sent a stab of agony through her shoulder. Briar Rose fought a gasp and looked up at the woman, who gave a tight smile.

“I’m Irene Hadlock, from the Saint Andrew’s Mary and Martha guild,” the woman announced. “We heard about your . . . accident and wanted to bring you flowers.” Speech over, the woman set the pot down on the table with a light thump. 

“Mary and Martha . . . ?” Briar Rose murmured, trying to make sense of what she’d only fleetingly caught. “I’m sorry?”

“From the church,” Irene Hadlock repeated, a little impatiently. “The one you attend with the Reagans?”

Briar Rose pressed the button to shift the bed to a sitting position, going slowly to avoid jarring her shoulder. “Saint Andrews, yes. Ah, thank you.”

“Just doing our Christian duty,” Irene Hadlock told her with a minor smile. “So, you were shot?”

“Yes,” Briar Rose admitted, feeling slightly alarmed. Irene Hadlock had an inquisitive look that wasn’t particularly nice, although it was hard to tell. “In the shoulder.”

“That’s not fatal,” Irene Hadlock pointed out.

“No,” Briar Rose agreed in confusion. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“True,” Irene Hadlock agreed. “Now Mary Margaret, she never got shot. Not even once.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Reagan,” Irene Hadlock clarified, planting her hands on her hips. “She never got shot.”

“No, she didn’t.” Briar Rose slid her hand for the call button, feeling a rush of trepidation. “I take it you knew the late Mrs. Reagan?”

“Oh she’s not late; she’s dead,” Irene Hadlock remarked and once again Briar Rose saw the strange gleam in the woman’s eyes.”We brought flowers for her too, but a much bigger arrangement. We liked _her_.”

Briar Rose pressed the call button hard. “I . . . see.”

“She was on the altar guild and the newcomers committee, and always donated to the Home Missions fund,” Irene pointed out. “Yep, she was a real peach. But you . . . I know the Lord works in mysterious ways and who am I to question him, right? But honestly, I don’t understand how on earth you thought you were gonna replace Mary Margaret. You may have married Mr. Reagan but there was only _one_ Mrs. Reagan.”

To her astonishment, Briar Rose felt herself begin to tear up. “I . . . don’t _want_ to replace her. She was wonderful, just like you said.” 

Irene Hadlock pursed her lips and would have said something more but a sound from the doorway made her look over and Briar Rose felt a sense of relief; Danny stood there, two Starbucks cups in his hands. 

“Oh hey,” he murmured, moving slowly into the room and handing a cup to Briar Rose before turning to face Irene Hadlock. “See you got a visitor.” 

“Little Danny,” Irene Hadlock shot him a brief smile. “All grown up.” 

“That’s right, Miss Hadlock. Gotten big,” he murmured soothingly. Briar Rose watched and caught the placating set of his shoulders, the way he focused on the woman. “Not gonna fit in my acolyte robes anymore.” 

“No,” Irene Hadlock agreed, her attention on him now. “Although you never were much good at it, not like Joe and Jamie. Too much piss and vinegar in _you_ , Danny Reagan.” 

“Now that’s true,” he agreed, reaching out to touch the woman’s shoulder. “But I gave it a shot, right? That’s gotta count for something.” 

Briar Rose realized Danny was steering the old woman away from her; turning her towards the door ever so gently. 

“I suppose so,” Irene Hadlock agreed grudgingly. “Where _is_ Joe? I never see him at church anymore.” 

“Joe,” Danny murmured bleakly. “Joe’s . . . with mom.” 

Irene Hadlock gave a little shiver. “Oh. Oh that’s right. I should take them some flowers.” 

A nurse stepped through the doorway and Danny gave her a brief glance. “Could you please check on your patient there while I help Miss Hadlock?” 

Briar Rose was glad the nurse was sharp; the young woman came over to her and checked her pulse, speaking in a soft undertone. “Do I need to call security Ma’am?” 

“Yes,” Briar Rose replied. Danny and Miss Hadlock were just outside the door, and she heard his soothing tones as he continued to speak to her. 

The nurse sent a text. 


	7. Chapter 7

Ten minutes later Danny was back, dragging a chair over and studying her. “You okay, B-Rose?”

“Scared,” she admitted. “Who . . . _was_ that?”

Danny ran a hand through his hair. “Miss Hadlock. She’s . . . not all there. Never _has_ been, to be honest. Goes to Saint Andrews and some of the people there keep an eye on her. Security downstairs is holding her and calling her family. Did she threaten you?”

“No,” Briar Rose assured him. “Just thought I was trying to replace your mother.”

Danny shook his head. “Mom was good to her and she remembers that, even if she’s not entirely clear on a lot of _other_ things. I’m sorry she made it up here and scared you.”

“I don’t think she would have hurt me,” Briar Rose told him, not entirely sure of it herself, but wanting to be reassuring. 

Danny sighed. “Maybe not, but we don’t know that. And even if that _was_ the case, she shouldn’t be wandering around for her own safety as well as yours.”

“True,” Briar Rose admitted. She reached out and took Danny’s hand. “Thank you sweetie.”

He gave her a shy smile. “It was nothing. So Pop says they’re springing you tonight?”

“Around eight,” Briar Rose replied. “And after this week I am so ready to go home!”

“What? Not in love with hospital food?” Danny teased her. “The canned fruit cocktail and bland soup?”

“Ugh,” Briar Rose shook her head. “I want one of Erin’s pot roasts, or maybe that Jamaican chicken you made last time, the one with the spicy sauce?”

They chatted a little more and finally Danny rose up with reluctance, tossing his cup across the room to the trash can in a perfect overhead shot. “Okay, I’m back on the clock. Listen, if you want someone to stay with you until you’re discharged I can arrange that--” 

“I’ll be fine,” Briar Rose told him, smiling. “And so will Miss Hadlock. Danny . . . again, thank you.”

He gave a little embarrassed shrug, bending to kiss her cheek. “Family sticks together. Lemme talk to Erin and we’ll see what we can come up with for Sunday. Be safe.”

With that Danny sauntered out, and Briar Rose watched him go with affection. Out of all the Reagans, it had taken a while for her to get to know this one, but worth the patience, she knew. Daniel Reagan was in so many ways the inside-out version of his father: brash, impulsive and prone to wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but with the same the drive and intelligence. 

Somewhere deep in that mix, though, was a gentler, kinder spirit; a sweet boyishness that peeked out now and again.

Her heart ached for him, and the loss of Linda, whom she’d never met but had heard about quite often. Danny was doing all the right things to work through it, but it had to be difficult, and Briar Rose was glad at least the two of them had come to a place of mutual respect and affection.   
She checked the time on her phone, her impatience growing.

\--oo00oo—

It wasn’t until she was finally home and resting on the sofa with George’s long muzzle in her lap that she mentioned Irene Hadlock and Danny’s gentle but timely intervention. Frank tensed, and Henry shook his head.

“Oh geez, _that_ nutcase! How did she find out you were--?”

“Where was security?” Frank rumbled, agitated. “That’s unacceptable!”

“I’m not _you_ , sweetheart,” Briar Rose pointed out. “And I’m sure someone who attends probably passed the word along to the guild in a Good Samaritan sort of way. In any case, no harm no foul, all right? She didn’t threaten me, just . . . brought flowers and said a few things.”

“Still, she’s not right in the head,” Henry grumbled. “Mentally ill.”

“And that’s not her _fault_ ,” Briar Rose pointed out, “is it?” Fatigue washed over her and she tried to stifle a yawn.

“No, but it does make her kind of a loose cannon,” Henry countered. “What did she say?”

Briar Rose hesitated. “She talked about how wonderful Mary Margaret was, and I agreed.”

She watched father and son exchange a look but by this point all that mattered was getting up the stairs and going to bed, so Briar Rose got to her feet. “Gentlemen.”

They both rose as well, and Frank followed her, closer than a shadow.

“I can make it up the stairs,” she protested faintly.

“And I’ll be right here to support you,” he replied.”Unless you want me to _carry_ you, like Scarlet O’Hara.”

Briar Rose snorted. “Not likely, sweetheart. Not only would it be bad for my shoulder, it would be _hell_ on your knees.”

“True,” Frank admitted grumpily. “But I’d still _do_ it.” He pointed up the stairs with his chin. “We’ll go slow.”

It took nearly ten minutes and Briar Rose was trembling by the time they’d reached the top. Frank guided her into their bedroom and to the bed, stooping to help take her shoes off. “You’re staying here all day tomorrow.”

“Not going to argue right now. Frank, I need my prescription.”

He glanced up at her. “Will it . . . interact with your other medications?”

“I’m not taking any,” she assured him. “Which is _why_ I need it tonight. Please.”

Briar Rose took the little box from him gratefully and proceeded to light up, trying not to inhale too hard and look too needy. After the first acrid lung-full though she relaxed, holding her breath and waiting for the affect to kick in, which it did with gratifying speed.

Slowly she exhaled, letting not only the smoke out, but letting the pain dull out as well.

Frank sat next to her, looking at the joint. “Better?”

“Good lord, yes,” Briar Rose admitted. “I know it kills you to hear that, but I’m so grateful for alternatives that work.”

“If they work when nothing else does,” he murmured slowly, “then they’re . . . justified. I’ve been around you and a few other people in pain long enough to accept that.” Frank’s wry expression made her smile.

Briar Rose took another hit. “Thank. You.” She managed between inhalations. Lightly she held out the tiny joint to him, intending to tease Frank, but when he actually _took_ it from her, she nearly spluttered out her smoke. 

He stared down at the smoldering spliff, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “Tell me; does it work for . . . anxiety?”

She coughed. “Well, short-term it helps me there too, sort of the way a good shot of whiskey works on _your_ behalf.”

Frank nodded slowly. “The problem with whiskey is it’s insidious. You try to find the right balance and when it becomes more than one glass, the anxiety’s won. And it doesn’t help with sleep, despite all the clichés. The truth is that anything that provides acute relief does so at the expense of function.”

Briar Rose nodded, blinking. “Agreed, which is why I do this before I go to sleep, and not first thing in the morning--”

Deliberately her husband took a long drag, pulling hard enough to bring the ash-line halfway up the petite joint before handing it back to her, his expression unreadable. 

“Frank!” Stunned, she ground out the remains of the joint against the bottom of the lighter and then dropped both items into the box, her gaze on her husband. “Sweetheart?”

He blew smoke rings. Briar Rose had seen Frank do them before when he smoked his cigars so she didn’t let them distract her; she kept her worried gaze on him.

Frank sighed. “I don’t want to do more scotch than I should, I don’t want Xanax or Valium, Briar Rose. All I want tonight is to curl up with you and sleep more than three hours.”

It hit her then that she wasn’t the only one in pain.

Briar Rose set the box on the nightstand and reached out her free hand to his cheek, stroking it, feeling the faint scratch of his bristles. “Okay,” she told him. “Okay.”

He helped her out of her clothes, being very gentle with her bandaged shoulder, and Briar Rose stretched out, watching him as Frank undressed with his usual methodical care. When he’d pulled on pajama bottoms and made his way to his side of the bed, Briar Rose rolled, grateful her good shoulder was under her. Frank settled in on his back, looking at her and she noticed how dark his pupils were.

“You’re a lightweight,” she murmured, smirking.

“Pffft,” Frank disagreed. “Believe it or not, this is not my first time toking up.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Briar Rose murmured skeptically. “Sure. Tell me another one, Altar Boy.”

“Well, in nineteen seventy-four I was called in to assist in a drug bust out along City Hall Park right near the Jacob Wrey Mould fountain,” Frank murmured. “A few kilos of marijuana were hidden in a cotton candy vendor’s cart. Unfortunately in the arrest, the cart was knocked over and one of the kilos ignited. It took forty minutes to put it out.”

Briar Rose spluttered into giggles. “Forty minutes?”

“Electrical fire,” Frank mumbled. “Sparks and live wires. Couldn’t use the water from the fountain or the hydrants. I and about six of my fellow officers will never forget the smell of burning sugar and what had been a prime brick of Thailand’s finest loamy cannabis. Most laid-back arrest I’ve ever made, and most mellow witnesses.” 

Briar Rose giggled. “Oh Lord.”

“I remember being sent home and on the way there, buying a box of a dozen cannolis and eating every damned one of them before I reached the house,” Frank confessed, grinning. “So there.”

She rubbed her chin on his bare shoulder, snickering. “You wild man, you. Tell you what. Let’s go to sleep now, okay?”

He leaned over and kissed her mouth with a contented sigh. “Yes.”

Briar Rose let Frank roll away from her and snuggled up against his spine, carefully resting her left arm at his waist, sliding her leg over his.  
 _It was good to be home_ , she thought, and drifted off against him.


	8. Chapter 8

Getting dressed was tricky; her arm was supposed to stay in a sling to keep the shoulder immobilized. Patiently Frank slid the bra up her arms and took his sweet time lifting each of her breasts into the lacy cups as he kissed the back of her neck. Briar Rose tried not to snicker.

“You’re enjoying this waaaay too much.”

“Oooh yes,” he agreed, his grin boyishly seductive. “And the _best_ part? I get to undress you later tonight.”

“Still have two days,” Briar Rose told him, swinging her long braid out of the way.

“Two days?”

“Until we can make whoopee,” Briar Rose murmured. “I, uh, asked the doctor specifically.”

Frank hesitated, torn between the sheer physical response that being near a half-dressed Briar Rose always brought up and a deeper emotional concern. “Maybe we shouldn’t push things,” he murmured earnestly. “For now.”

Briar Rose gave a little sigh. “You’re probably right. If I can’t reciprocate it’s not as much fun for me.”

“That’s not quite what I _meant_ ,” Frank bent down to help her into her socks, enjoying the sight of her long legs. “I just don’t want to put you under any risk of re-injury, sweetheart. You’re still healing.”

“I know, I know. Doctors always make the worst patients,” she grumbled. “And we’re the first ones to push the limits. Still, you have a point.”

“Yes, I do,” he agreed. “So. I don’t know about you but I’ve actually got an appetite this morning.”

“Munchies,” Briar Rose giggled. “Let’s see what we can manage.”

Frank managed toaster waffles, resigning himself to the heart-healthy olive oil butter substitute while Briar Rose covered hers with maple syrup and picked it up like a piece of toast.

“So good, even if it IS whole grain,” she mumbled through a mouthful.

“I love you, but sometimes I really _resent_ your metabolism,” Frank grumbled. “Deeply.”

Briar Rose just smiled. “So Lainie’s coming by this morning to take me to see the physical therapy place. We might take Henry too.”

“I’ve got three precincts to visit and a long conversation with the captain of the midtown one,” Frank rumbled. “It’s not going to be _pleasant_.”

“Frank,” Briar Rose warned. “They were there in under four minutes!”

“Not good enough,” he shot back. “And believe me I’m in the position to _know_. This isn’t just about you, it’s about a drop in standards and I won’t put up with it. The citizens of this city shouldn’t have to either.”

Briar Rose stared at him and Frank met it, his usual neutral expression shifting the tiniest bit when she sighed. “All right. You’re the commissioner and yes, you get to make these decisions but I for one am grateful for services rendered and intend to write a letter saying so.”

“That’s your call . . . and I’m sure they’d appreciate it, especially after _my_ visit,” Frank finished his coffee and after carrying the dishes to the sink he came over to his wife and gently stroked the side of her face with his knuckles. “I’ll do my very best to stay objective,” he reminded her.

Briar Rose nodded. “That’s all I want.”

\--oo00oo—

“Shot,” Lainie shook her head. “Ya never got _shot_ when you were living in Dyker Heights.”

“No, but I did get mugged, doorbell ditched, fined, and sued,” Briar Rose replied, grinning. They’d just finished visiting the physical therapy office and she’d arranged for six weeks of appointments that she really wasn’t looking forward to.

“Eh, Dyker’s a good neighborhood. A little snooty maybe,” Henry chimed in.

Lainie rolled her eyes as they walked to the car. “Oh, and Bay Ridge _isn’t_? I bet you guys use cloth napkins fer every meal. Am I right?”

“Pleading the Fifth on that one,” Henry replied with a quick grin. “So where can I take you gals for lunch?”

Briar Rose carefully climbed into the front passenger seat. “Lainie?”

“Paesano on 13th,” she suggested. “They have a Reuben to die for.”

“Death by Reuben,” Henry chuckled. “There are worse ways to go I guess. Let’s do it.”

Briar Rose agreed, still tickled at how well her father-in-law and her former neighbor got along. While Lainie still had a few reservations about Frank, she’d taken to Henry right away and the feeling seemed to be mutual. To be fair they had a lot in common including a love of friendly bickering and encyclopedia level knowledge of their neighborhoods.

Lainie also kept a discreet eye on Eddie and Jamie, which was a bonus, as far as Briar Rose could see. It wasn’t that she and Frank wanted to spy on anybody, but it was always good to have someone in the neighborhood as a contact. 

Lunch was nearly perfect, with both Lainie and Henry in good moods, talking about family holidays and it was only when Briar Rose hinted that she wanted to head back that they did. Lainie helped her out of the car and gave her a hug. “I know you got a good thing going here, girl, but don’t be a stranger, hear? And if you and the Mustache need a break I’d be happy to take Henry to Coney Island for a day.”

“I _heard_ that!” Henry called from the sidewalk, but grinned. “I’ll make you hang out at the handball courts there, Lainie!”

“Woo, watching sweaty jocks trash talk and strut around? My kinda date!”

They all said their goodbyes, and inside the front door, Henry laughed. “She’s a kick, that one. If I was ten years younger I’d ask her out.”

“Hey, you’ve already had _one_ heart attack,” Briar Rose murmured with a grin as they moved into the living room. “No need to invite trouble.”

Henry was going to say something when they both heard George come in. He was moving timidly, and Briar Rose saw he had something in his mouth. She hoped it wasn’t another one of Frank’s socks; it was embarrassing to find those throughout the house.

“George . . . what have you got?” Briar Rose demanded softly. Soft was always the best approach with George, who was more willing to give up his treasures if treated gently.

This one, however, wriggled.

Henry bent down. “The _hell_?” he murmured.

George backed up, and wagged his tail. Briar Rose moved closer, holding out a hand. “Okay Fuzzy Butt, what is it?”

The tiny indignant ‘mew’ made it very clear what IT was, and Briar Rose blinked. Luckily Henry was able to use both hands and gently extricate the petite ball slicked down with Borzoi spit.

Free of George’s mouth, the little ball sneezed, fluffing up.

“Kitten. Where the hell did he get a _kitten_?” Henry muttered, looking as confused as Briar Rose felt. They both looked at George, but he turned and darted away.

“The dog door,” Briar Rose called out. “Oh lord . . .”  
She followed him outside, catching sight of him rounding the corner of the back yard in his graceful gallop. Briar Rose watched him disappear into the pyracantha bushes and emerge again with a second mouthful of fur, this one even less cooperative.

“George!” Briar Rose pleaded, trying to pull apart branches and not having much success with her single free arm. George made his way out, his coat carrying several needle leaves in the curls, his expression smug. 

She followed him back into the house, where Henry had the first kitten in one of the big Tupperware bins. The black and white kitten had no interest in escaping and was far busier grooming. Briar Rose took the second little one from George and set it next to its littermate in the plastic tub. This one, nearly all black, wobbled a little, then sat down and protested loudly.

“In the pyracantha,” Briar Rose told Henry. “I don’t know if there are any more, or a mother.”

“I’ll check,” Henry offered. Briar Rose noted that George didn’t go with him, but instead hung his head over the side of the bin, snuffling.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Briar Rose told him in exasperation. 

George yawned.

Henry came back a few minutes later. “Nothing,” he reported. “No other kittens, no mama cat. You don’t think George . . .”

“No!” Briar Rose protested, “George is scared of _squirrels_ , for Pete’s sake! He’d never kill _anything_!”

“You’re right,” Henry agreed sheepishly. “For all his size he’s a wuss. I mean a great-looking wuss but still. What do we do?”

“We call the vet,” Briar Rose replied with a sigh.

\--oo00oo—

//We have unexpected guests for the night.//

Frank stared at the text, perplexed.  
//Who?//

//Not who. More of whats, thanks to George.// 

This was followed by a cell phone photo of what looked like two lumps of fur curled up on a pillow.  
Frank took off his glasses to study the photo more closely. 

//Kittens?//

//Bingo. About six and a half weeks old according to Doctor Ibarra. Does Abby want one? Or Sid?//

Frank got up and crossed his office, leaning out the doorway. “How much would I have to pay upfront for you to take kittens off my hands?” he asked the blonde at the desk.

“No amount on heaven or earth could entice me to bring an allergen factory into my house, now or _ever_ ,” Abby told him with a straight face. “Sir.”

Frank gave a nod. “I was prepared to go all the way to twenty dollars.”

“Sweet as that offer is, bribes are still illegal,” Abby reminded him with a wry smile. “On the other hand, let me see who _else_ in the building might be in the market for a Jackson and felines.”

He reached for his phone again. //Word has been sent.// 

//Good, although YOU will have to explain that we're not keeping them to George.// 

Frank frowned. 


	9. Chapter 9

When he arrived home, Frank cocked an ear for any unusual sounds but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He hung up his coat and muffler, turning to find George waiting there, big plumy tail wagging. Frank reached down to pet his head. “What did you _do_?” Frank asked quietly. George stepped closer, bracing himself against Frank’s thigh, sighing happily.

Frank continued the gentle scratching, well-aware he was being suckered into it, but George was a lovely hound, a gentle soul with an honest and simple outlook. Borzois would never be anything other than companions but they certainly excelled at the job, he admitted to himself. “So what’s this about kittens?”

George’s tail wagged faster, and he led the way through the living room, making a turn for the kitchen with Frank following him and stopping at the unexpected sight of a slab of cardboard taped across the doorway. George gracefully hopped over it, clearly used to the move. Frank stepped over, bracing a hand on the doorway, feeling a little disgruntled now. 

“Briar Rose?” he called.

George circled around the little prep island and looking down, Frank spotted the two fuzzy blobs at the dog’s feet. Both of them backed up as Frank bent down while George licked the side of his face.

Carefully Frank scooped one kitten up, examining it. Black and white in patches with white whiskers and a puzzled expression. It mewed piteously at him and George was instantly there, snuffling the baby’s bottom reassuringly.

“Calm down, I’m just _looking_ at it,” Frank told the dog.

George managed a chagrined expression.

Frank felt its rounded tummy and set the baby back on the floor before reaching for the other one. This kitten was all black except for a white chin and chest; a tuxedo in full. It reached out a paw to him, tiny slivers of claws extended. “Okay, you’re the _braver_ one,” he mused.

Once the other kitten was back on the kitchen floor, George sat down; the babies scampered over to him.

“And who gave _you_ permission to adopt kittens?” Frank asked George. “Your job is to alert us to visitors, chase tennis balls and keep squirrels out of the bird feeders. Nothing about raising someone else’s litter.”

George gave a little wag of his tail and shook his ears; Frank sighed and got a bottle of water from the fridge. He’d finished half of it when he heard footsteps and Briar Rose was at the doorway, stepping over the barricade, bracing herself with her good arm. “You’re home. I see you’ve met the, ah, guests.”

“They’re not guests,” Frank countered, shooting a dour look at the kittens, who were pouncing on parts of George. “They’re temporary refugees. How’s the shoulder?”

“Better,” Briar Rose assured him. “Any luck in finding them homes?”

“No,” Frank admitted. “Not even with a monetary incentive thrown in.”

She snickered. “Bribes. I can’t believe you offered _bribes_ to your staff.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Frank reminded her. “And in this case it didn’t work.”

“Yet,” Briar Rose countered, coming closer to give him a quick kiss. “Any of _our_ brood willing to take them?”

“I doubt it,” Frank slipped an arm around her. “Nobody’s home long enough to care for them and Reagans are _dog_ people anyway.”

“You had dogs?”

“Well no,” Frank admitted, “Not as pets prior to George, but still---”

“ _I_ had cats, dogs, chickens and even a bullfrog,” Briar Rose told him. “ _And_ part ownership of a mule named Zebulon for a while.”

“A regular Ellie Mae Clampett,” Frank teased. “Well then you’re the authority on taking care of these . . . critters.”

Whatever protest Briar Rose was going to make was interrupted by Frank’s wince; the tuxedo kitten had begun to climb up his pantleg. “ _Ow_.”

She bent and unhooked the kitten, scolding it softly. “Not nice. The Boss is not to be trifled with, short stuff.” 

The kitten refused to look apologetic, and Briar Rose set it down next to George. “We’ll need to get some peppermint oil and some scratching posts.”

“We’re not keeping them,” Frank reminded her.

\--oo00oo—

“So they’re gonna need names,” Henry announced right after grace. 

“We’re not keeping them,” Frank murmured.

“Butch and Sundance,” Sean offered. “Just saw the movie in my film studies class, it was awesome!”

“Those two were criminals,” Danny objected. “Might want to think more along the _right_ side of the law. Maybe Law and Order.”

His sister snickered. “Just because _you_ have a crush on Mariska Hargitay.”

“Hey, who _doesn’t_?” Danny countered, shooting a look for support around the table.

“Make it Chris Meloni and _I’m_ in,” Eddie admitted, earning a side stare from her husband.

“Boy, you think you _know_ a woman,” Jamie muttered.

“Not staying,” Frank interjected. Nobody looked his way.

“Felony and Misdemeanor,” Nikki offered.

“B and E,” Henry snickered.

“Protect and Serve,” was Jamie’s suggestion.

“What do _you_ think, B-Rose?” Henry asked.

She looked up. “Please pass the potatoes.”

Down the length of the table, Frank glared at her. He leaned forward, forearms on the table and slowly looked around at every person until they were all quiet. “We are _not_ keeping them,” Frank rumbled.

Briar Rose slowly got to her feet, her expression flinty. “Fine. You’ve made it clear from the start, Frank so first thing Monday morning we’ll take them to the pound where their last seventy-two hours will start counting down.”

“What?” Nikki demanded. “ _Three days_?”

“It’s all they’ll get,” Briar Rose murmured. “We’re in kitten season and most places don’t have enough room for all the little ones coming in. Those two in the laundry room will get three days to be adopted—and that’s a hard _maybe_ \-- and after that they’ll be euthanized.”

The table went silent again, only this time everyone avoided looking at Frank. 

He was staring at Briar Rose, his expression a strange mix of bleakness and chagrin. “Is that . . . true?”

“Yes,” Briar Rose told him. “We could farm them out to a no-kill shelter; there are several of those but they’re _also_ inundated right now. Taking care of pets is serious business sweetheart—the days of standing outside a grocery store with a box saying ‘free to a good home’ are long gone, and nothing is easy. All I’m asking is that you . . . reconsider it. Please.”

Frank shifted in his chair, caught under the scrutiny of nine silent people; it didn’t take long.

“Damn it,” he grumbled under his breath. “Fine. Two kittens. Under one condition.”

A collective sigh went around the table and Briar Rose sat down again, slowly. “Which is?”

“I am never cleaning a litterbox. Ever.”

“Fair,” she nodded. The rest of the family shifted gazes back and forth down the table, like spectators at a riveting tennis match. “Anything else?”

He’d pulled his chair back up to the table and took his time resettling his napkin in his lap. “Yes.”

“And that is?”

“We’re calling them NY and PD.”

The table broke up.

\--oo00oo—

Briar Rose realized Frank was not quite himself and when they finally made it upstairs to their bedroom late in the evening, she turned to him. “I’m sorry.”

He moved to the dresser and began to empty his pockets as he did nearly every night, setting his wallet and pocketknife down; taking off his watch to rest in the dish of cufflinks.

“Me too,” Frank replied, his voice holding a light tone of reproach. “I don’t appreciate being undermined like that.”

“I know,” Briar Rose admitted. “But it was equally hard to see you being so . . . dictatorial.”

He turned, raising his heavy eyebrows at this, and seeing her chance, Briar Rose stepped closer under the guise of helping undo his shirt buttons. “Okay maybe that’s a bit strong but sometimes I think you’ve gotten in the habit of deciding a lot of things around here based solely on your _own_ biases.”

She knew she’d hit a tender spot Frank hadn’t expected; he took a breath and held her gaze for a moment.

“Guilty,” he finally admitted. “But in my own defense I’ve been doing that for years and it’s _not_ news to you. If you wanted to keep the kittens you could have simply said so upfront _before_ we had dinner.”

“I’ve been _hinting_ ,” Briar Rose reminded him with mild exasperation. “And I wanted to see if anyone at the table was willing to take one while the whole time there you were, grumbling about not keeping them when I knew damn well what was most likely going to happen at the pound . . . Again, I’m sorry. But I’m also _not_ sorry.”

Frank slipped his arms around her and pulled her into a gentle hug. “It’s a big house,” he murmured finally. “With only three people in it at the moment. We’ve got room for . . . kittens. I _guess_.”

“Mmm,” Briar Rose agreed. She kissed his chin. “Thank you.”

“Just, don’t think you’re going to get away with it all the time,” Frank warned her, hands slipping under the back of her sweater to unhook her bra. “This is a one-off. A strictly humanitarian decision.”

“Absolutely. Ooh, someone’s hands are cold!”

“It’s because I have a warm _heart_ ,” Frank told her with as straight a face as he could manage. “One devoted to kittens.”

Briar Rose retaliated with her own chilly fingers working their way across his exposed chest. “My own Saint Francis.”

“I’m not thinking very saintly thoughts when you _do_ that,” Frank admitted, helping her undress.

“I’m not either. Let’s go to bed, hero,” she smiled at him.


	10. Chapter 10

Within twenty-four hours, Nala Yeats (NY for short) and her brother Padraic Drogheda (PD) had made themselves at home. And that meant staging epic mock battles across the kitchen linoleum with George anxiously watching; noisily greeting anyone coming in over the barrier and wolfing down wet food as if it was going out of style.

“They’re gonna _pop_ ,” Henry predicted, amused despite himself. “Between that and the kibble.”

“Here’s hoping they pace themselves,” Briar Rose agreed, patting George, who was pretending not to be interested in the wet food himself. 

By common agreement the kittens were currently confined to the kitchen and laundry room for the time being, and Briar Rose found that they adapted well. George was a dutiful nanny, grooming his adoptees and bedding down with them for naps during the day. The kittens in turn seemed to appreciate his attention as well. 

The question of what happened to their mother was answered a day later when she went to retrieve the mail and ran into the postman, who handed over the letters with a shake of her head. “I hate to ask, but are you missing a cat?” 

Briar Rose hesitated and the woman continued. “Someone hit one up around the corner on Eighty-Second Street and I thought I’d check on my rounds. Damned shame to lose a pet, you know?”

“That’s awful,” Briar Rose agreed, feeling a pang in her stomach. “We found two kittens,” she added, “I bet they were hers.”

“Ohh!” the mail carrier gave a little sigh. “Damn. Makes it kinda worse, but if you’re taking them in, I guess that’s the good that comes out of it.”

“I guess so,” Briar Rose agreed ruefully. She passed the information to Henry and Frank later, adding, “I guess this officially makes George a hero.”

“As these things go,” Frank murmured. He had thawed somewhat regarding the kittens and Briar Rose had seen him playing with them at least once to her amusement. On the last shopping trip he’d put in a feather wand into the cart without comment.

Her shoulder was healing and the bandages were getting smaller now. On the front side, she had a small wound that would eventually close and fade, but on the back of her shoulder, the ugly Z shaped maroon gash held together with stitches still ached when she moved too quickly or twisted the wrong way.

To complicate matters, her contract with NY Langone was nearly up, and Briar Rose knew she needed to make a decision whether to sign on for another three year commitment or not. The cons were outweighing the pros at this point, and knowing that Lucas as leaving as well was tipping the scales too. She talked it over with Lainie, who listened and gave a heavy-shouldered shrug.

“Gotta go with what’s gonna make you happy, and right now it looks like bein’ a Real Housewife of Bay Ridge is what toasts your bagel, hon.”

She’d nearly choked up her coffee at that, snickering with Lainie, who grinned back. “Y-you did that on purpose!”

“Pffft. It’s true. You _love_ bein’ Mrs. Clowderbock-Reagan--don’t deny it. And,” Lainie admitted reluctantly, “it’s a good look on you. Truth to tell you’ve been alone for a long damned time, B-Rose. As families go, the one ya married into is pretty solid.”

“It is,” Briar Rose admitted. “Although there have been a few dinners where I’ve been tempted to use a spray bottle.”

“Ha! I’ve been tempted to go get Lennie’s whiffle bat myself for a few of ours and we’re all still here,” Lainie pointed out. “Families get noisy. It’s life.”

“So I’m learning,” Briar Rose agreed. “How are the newlyweds doing?”

Lainie grinned. “For two people who think they’re urban to the core they sure like housekeeping. She’s got him painting the porch and putting in rosebushes. I had to show him how to clean the gutters. Me, fer cryin’ out loud!” 

“And how long did it take you to catch on?” Briar Rose teased.

“Two gutters,” Lainie admitted with a scowl. “Then when I realized it, I chased him up the ladder and told him I’d let his old man know he’d been conning me.”

“Two gutters,” Briar Rose laughed. “Losing your touch, Lainie. Going soft in your old age.”

“Not hardly,” Lainie retorted. “Eddie and I got a _nice_ view of his ass while he was up there. Sort of made up for it.”

For the second time Briar Rose snorted coffee.

\--oo00oo—

The first Sunday back at church was stressful; Briar Rose was well-aware of Frank’s arm around her, and the protective firewall he made as they walked in, Henry flanking her other side.

“Stand _down_!” she hissed under her breath. “I’m perfectly safe, sweetheart.”

“As long as there’s the possibility that Irene Hadlock is attending, no,” Frank murmured pleasantly as he helped her to their pew. “Husband’s prerogative.”

She sighed, pulling down the kneeler and gingerly shifting her arms, settling into prayer as the soft welcoming hymn drifted through the church. Briar Rose had gotten used to St. Andrew’s; the liturgy was nearly parallel to the Episcopal one, as were the hymns. For a while she’d felt a little isolated in not taking Communion with the rest of the Reagans at first, but a chat with Monsignor Donahue before her wedding to Frank had changed that.

“You’re already a baptized Christian. If you _believe_ with all your heart and soul in Transubstantiation, I’ve no problem with having you at the rail,” he assured her. “If the wine and bread are the Body and Blood for you, Briar Rose, then you’re as welcome here as any other Christian, and your marriage to Frank is a blessing to us all.”

Kind words, and wonderfully reassuring. Briar Rose appreciated them deeply, as did Frank. 

As the service rolled on, Briar Rose leaned against Frank, relaxing slightly. Henry held the hymnal for her, and when it was time for the Eucharist, she let her husband escort her up to the rail. She gracefully shifted to her knees, angling her sling for comfort before she realized who was settling in on the other side of her. 

The dumpy little woman didn’t even glance her way.

Frank had his eyes closed, his mouth open, ready to receive the Host. Hastily Briar Rose crossed herself and cupped her hands, the sling making it slightly awkward but Father Barry never hesitated, pressing the wafer into it. “The body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ,” he murmured, moving on to Irene Hadlock.

Briar Rose let the wafer dissolve on her tongue, trying to stay focused. When the chalice came, she dutifully took a sip, swallowing it and moving to rise. She turned to Frank, saw him spot Irene, and reached for his arm.

They held their gaze for a few seconds, and then Frank slipped her arm under his and slowly led her back to the pew, his grip firm. Wordlessly they knelt, and Briar Rose turned her focus back to prayer, feeling an added sense of grace.

When the service was done, Frank rose and didn’t move, letting other parishioners move past them until the nave was clear. Only then did he shift to let Briar Rose and Henry out.

“What was _that_ all about?” Henry complained.

“Irene was on the other side of me for Communion,” Briar Rose murmured to him. The older man stiffened, his lips going thin.

They walked a bit more quickly than Briar Rose would have liked. At the door Father Barry was there, and other people in groups of twos and threes.

One of them was Irene.

Frank stiffened, putting himself in front of Briar Rose even as Irene came stomping over, her smile wide.

“Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met. Welcome to St. Andrews! I’m Irene.” She held out a hand . . . to Frank.

He looked startled. Irene grabbed his hand and pumped it.

“Miss Hadlock,” Frank murmured, politeness winning over trepidation.

“That’s right! And _you_ are?”

Now Father Barry was looking concerned, and another parishioner, a sweet elderly woman with a sweater over her shoulders came forward, touching Irene’s arm. “Irene dear, that’s Commissioner Reagan. You already _know_ him.”

A troubled look passed Irene Hadlock’s features. “I do?”

“Yes dear. He’s been attending for years. Why don’t we go and have some donuts now?”

“Yes,” Irene still looked confused, but managed a little smile. “I . . . know you. How silly of me. Yes.” She turned to the other woman. “A donut. Do they have any left with sprinkles?”

“Let’s go find out,” the woman suggested, shooting a compassionate look at Frank before steering Irene Hadlock towards the parish hall.

Henry looked at the priest, who was shaking his head.

“Mary Kessler’s been made her legal guardian, and we’re working on having her made an adult ward of the parish so she can receive . . . services.”

Briar Rose slipped her good hand into Frank’s and squeezed it, receiving a squeeze in return as they watched the two women leave.

\--oo00oo—

Because of her shoulder, pies were out. Briar Rose had fretted over what to make, and finally settled on the simplest dessert she had in her files. Two ingredients later, it was in the oven and baking. She sat at the kitchen table, absently petting PD when Frank wandered in, sniffing the air.

“What am I smelling?” he asked, stepping over the barrier. NY sauntered up to him and Frank bent to pick up the kitten, petting it lightly.

“Cocadas,” Briar Rose told him, impishly adding, “They’re highly dangerous but tasty.”

“Dangerous?” he shot her a skeptical look.

Briar Rose smirked. “A luscious blend of toasted coconut and sweetened condensed milk guaranteed to ramp up your libido and inflame your passions. Something about the sultry blend of sweet and nutty flavors brings to mind topless beaches in Rio de Janeiro; erotic nights wrapped in satin and lace; desires whispered, groaned and growled between slick kisses . . .”

The kitten squealed in protest; Frank guiltily loosened his grip and set NY down before coming over to glare at his wife. “You. You nearly made me _strangle_ an innocent kitten. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

Briar Rose looked at him, and then let her gaze slide down his torso, doing it deliberately, and stopping just under his belt. Frank realized what she’d done and flinched. “Stop that.”

“Nnnnno. Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets,” she taunted. “Once you’ve had a cocada, you’re _mine_ , Francis Xavier.”

He tried to look stern—tried—but when Briar Rose reached a finger out to touch his nose, he shifted and kissed it. “I was yours long before any damned cocada, Briar Rose Althea Thais, Lord help me. If you’re _sure_ . . .”

She laughed. “Cocadas. Trust me.”


	11. Chapter 11

The cocadas were a hit, especially with chocolate drizzled on them. Erin immediately wanted the recipe and Frank noticed that both Nikki and Jamie had seconds, which was not too surprising.

He felt a tiny knot of tension deep in his stomach, a tension that had nothing to do with the meal they’d just finished. Down the length of the table, Briar Rose was clearing the plates, and he watched her shake off offers of help, still capable despite the sling. 

Capable. That was the word. Briar Rose was temporarily incapacitated but still able to function. Frank wondered if that applied to himself. Physically he was fine, but lingering in his thoughts was a tiny thread of fear now. A hairline crack, he supposed, a reminder that everyone was mortal, including his dearly beloved.

That ingrained need to keep the people he loved safe was hard to fight, he knew. An impossible task made all the harder by everyone’s given profession. Added to that the fear of doing more harm only fed his guilt, and he gave a mental sigh, trying to keep anxiety at bay.

Still, after everyone had left and his father had bid them goodnight, shuffling off to his room, Frank took his time locking up the house—making his final round of the night, he supposed. George went with him, and once Frank headed up the stairs the Borzoi headed back to the kitchen to settle in with his adoptees. 

Upstairs, he heard humming from the bathroom. The door was open and cautiously he peeked in to see Briar Rose running a bath, the water foaming and steaming as she sat on the edge of the tub. She smiled at him.

“Hey. Want to be my lifeguard?”

“I insist,” he managed a smile.

After putting the lid down, Frank settled himself on the only seat available and rested his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward to watch Briar Rose slip out of her clothes, neatly dropping them into the hamper before coyly turning to look at him over her good shoulder. “You’ve seen it all before,” she snickered.

“And repeated viewings merely increase my _appreciation_ ,” Frank replied.

Briar Rose giggled at that, and began to wind her hair up into a messy bun. “Thank you. It’s got mileage but the lines are still good—I may let you check under the hood later.”

“Are you . . . sure?” he murmured.

She glanced over her wounded shoulder at him, and in that moment Frank knew Briar Rose caught a glimpse of his fears; it was there in the soft worry in her gaze. Turning, she stepped over to him, standing un-selfconsciously next to him, hand reaching for his chin, lifting it.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes. I am here and alive and not going anywhere, Francis Xavier. You and I, we’re survivors. We take a hit and come back, _knowing_ that life isn’t fair, _knowing_ the price for what we have and paying it anyway, sweetheart. Someday I will die, but not today. You either. That’s _worth_ celebrating.”

Frank reached up to slip an arm around her hip, fingers skating over the warm skin, palm gliding across the rounded globes of her ass before settling around her. “You’re right,” he sighed, “but it’s been difficult to come to _terms_ with it. You are precious to me.”

“As you are to me,” she assured him, stroking his hair. “And I intend to enjoy every minute I have with you, even if it’s just us cuddling platonically under the covers.”

Frank glanced up at her, noting she was trying to look noble. “You’re standing here, completely naked and you honestly think we’re going to cuddle, platonically?”

“Well no, I _hope_ not,” Briar Rose admitted with a saucy smile, “but sex isn’t the only reason I married you. It’s a big plus, but our love is more than just sheiking it up you know.”

“Sheiking it up?” He snorted. “Another of Granny’s terms?”

“You sheik; I vamp,” she told him, shifting to step into the tub. “The Twenties had a lot of terms for sex.”

“Sounds to me like your _granny_ had a lot of sex,” Frank pointed out, shifting to sit on the edge of the tub.

“Oh I’m sure of it,” Briar Rose agreed. “Boop boopy doo.”

He washed her back, being careful around the still-healing scar as they talked of lighter things, and when Frank helped her out of the tub he felt better. 

She tipped her head as she tucked the towel around herself. “You could have _joined_ me in there you know.”

“I don’t think both of us would have fit.”

“Apparently your parents did.”

“What?” Frank stopped halfway out the bathroom as Briar Rose glided ahead of him, shaking out her hair.

“Bath night,” she giggled. “Didn’t you ever wonder why they packed you off so early?”

Now he felt the heat across his face. “I . . . what?”

“You Reagans,” came her tease. “Noble on the streets, but something _else_ in the sheets. Or tubs, apparently.”

Frank wanted to protest, but gave in to a grin as he followed her. “I’m never going to look at a bar of Ivory soap the same way again.”

Briar Rose laughed. 

Once they were both under the covers, Briar Rose rolled to him, being careful of her shoulder.

“Mrs. Clowderbock-Reagan,” Frank murmured playfully.

“Police Commissioner Reagan,” Briar Rose skimmed a hand along his furry chest. “You smell nice.”

“I try to.”

“And you feel nice,” Briar Rose continued. “Warm and fuzzy and cute.”

“You can’t _feel_ cute,” Frank objected. “Not physically at least.”

Briar Rose slid a leg over his, rubbing herself against his hip. “I can make my best attempt.”

He wanted to say something but the press of her body against him felt wonderful and Frank slid an arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her closer.  
“I’m scared,” Frank murmured. “Scared of hurting you.”

“I’m not,” Briar Rose assured him. “See, I heard there’s this pretty popular position where I get to lie on my back so my shoulder’s not a problem.”

“Sounds exotic,” Frank managed with a straight face. “Could be dangerous.”

“I have to close my eyes and think of the police department,” came her soft laugh. “For the rank and file.”

“No. I’d really prefer you didn’t do that,” he felt her lips against the side of his throat and shivered a little. “Maybe narrow it to _one_ officer in particular.”

“Mmmmm,” came her reply between little kisses. 

Frank found himself responding strongly; whatever doubts his mind had, his body was good to go, and when Briar Rose’s fingers slid along the ridge of his hipbone, he groaned.

“Missed you too,” she whispered. “A lot.”

“Briar Rose . . .” Frank murmured, and shifted to face her.

Even in the dark, he knew her body; the long muscles of her arms; the heft of her chest and the delicious hollow at the base of her throat. Briar Rose’s skin smelled sweet, and warm to his touch.

She lay back, taking one of his hands and pressed it under her left breast. “See? Still beating strong.”

“Yes,” he agreed, comforted by the gesture. He slid his hand to cup the sweet curve before bending to brush his mustache over the stiff nipple. Briar Rose writhed a little, making a kittenish squeak. “Oh, sound effects!”

“You—!” she accused, but he did it again, making Briar Rose wriggle again and the sight of her under him, aroused and smiling was more than enough to dissolve his fear. Frank moved to the other breast, feeling his desire merge with a sense of gratitude. 

They shifted, winding around each other, each eager to kiss and touch and nip, moving in happy tandem across the mattress, taking things slowly, sweetly. Briar Rose caressed the back of his hand as he stroked his fingers into her, moaning in a way that sharpened his desire.

When neither of them could hold out any longer, Frank nudged her knees wider apart and shifted her lean thighs up; her legs wrapped around him. Briar Rose looked up at him in the faint light. “I want youuuu,” she rasped. “Please sweetheart!”

Her tone, full of lustful love undid him, and he thrust into Briar Rose, giving over to impulse and desire, still being careful to not put any pressure on her shoulder. His wife slid her good arm around him, hanging on, her hips rocking up to meet his strong, steady strokes.

“So good . . .” she crooned, her voice still a little jagged. “Love this, love youuuuu.”

He held out through her orgasm but between her words and his own relief, Frank gave way to his own bliss, feeling not only the release but the sheer joy of being reunited with Briar Rose in one of the best ways possible.

Reluctantly he peeled himself off of her, again being careful of her shoulder and moved them both away from the wet spot.

They lay wrapped together, cooling down.

“There,” she murmured after a while. “That was good. _I_ needed that, _you_ needed that.”

“Umm,” he agreed, kissing her temple. “For a while . . .” Frank began, and stopped. Briar Rose looked up at him and he took a breath before continuing. “For a while I didn’t think I . . . could. Afraid of twisting your shoulder, or of hurting you.”

“I know,” Briar Rose replied, yawning a little. “But good old missionary works for now. We can get back to exotic nookie in a while.”

“I have _never_ participated in exotic nookie in my life,” Frank deadpanned.

Briar Rose rolled her eyes. “You are _never_ going to heaven if you lie like that, Francis Xavier! Who invented the whipped cream body parfait? Who insisted on ‘breaking in’ the new lounge in the back yard? And hello? Does French Maid ring a bell?”

“Nothing exotic about those,” he argued back playfully. “All well within the standard realm of sexual congress. Exotic involves whips, and public nudity and . . . fishsticks.”

“Fishsticks?” Briar Rose questioned, startled.

“Fishsticks,” Frank nodded. “In eighty-two I brought in an assault victim who had said foodstuffs in a body cavity. Fifteen of Gorton’s finest tucked up where the sun doesn’t shine. Never served them for dinner again after that.”

The sound of Briar Rose smothering her giggles in a pillow was sweet, and eventually they both fell asleep.


End file.
